A Christmas Bride For The King. Эбби Грин

him more than he cared to admit—as did her assertion that she didn’t mind missing Christmas. But he curbed the impulse to ask her why. He avoided asking women searching questions.

      Salim cursed himself and shifted in his chair to ease the sudden constriction in his pants. To find himself reacting to a woman who desired him but looked at him as if he was a naughty schoolboy was galling.

      He forced his body back under control and stood up. Her gaze lingered around his chest area for a moment before rising. She stood up too—hurriedly. He had a sense that she was usually more composed—if that was possible—than she was now and that thought gave him some perverse pleasure.

      ‘You’re determined to see out your contract, then?’

      She nodded. ‘Yes.’

      ‘How long did my dear brother hire you for?’

      ‘Until the coronation takes place. He said that if you require my services after that you can extend the contract yourself.’

      Salim thought to himself that as he had no intention of staying in his role as king for long that would be highly unlikely, but he desisted from sharing that information with a complete stranger.

      ‘As you wish,’ he said. ‘If you really want to stay in this sand-blown place—’

      ‘Oh, but I think it’s beautiful…’ She stopped, her cheeks going pink. ‘I mean, from what I’ve seen so far. It’s run down, yes, but one can see the potential.’

      Salim arched a brow and ignored the pulse in his blood seeing this small glimpse of something like passion. ‘Can one?’

      Her green eyes flashed. Once again Salim found himself a little mesmerised by the vivid emotions crossing her face. He couldn’t remember meeting a woman so lacking in artifice. And then something in him hardened. Was he losing his mind? All women wanted something from him—even this one.

      Maybe she just wanted the kudos of working for him—it would certainly elevate her professional standing to be the one who had wrangled Sheikh Salim Al-Noury into accepting his crown and toeing the line like a good little king.

      He thought of something and folded his arms. ‘Aren’t you worried that by being associated with me you’ll taint your reputation?’

      She tipped up her chin. ‘I am here to see that that doesn’t happen, Sheikh Al-Noury, and I’m very good at my job.’

      For a second he stood in stunned silence, and then he couldn’t stop a smile—a genuine smile—from curving his mouth upwards. It had been so long since anyone had exhibited such confidence in front of him. And a lack of awe that was as refreshing as it was slightly insulting.

      She frowned. ‘If you’re going to make fun of me—’

      Salim shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t dare, Miss McQuillan. I’d be afraid you’d put me over your knee and spank me for being naughty.’

      The colour deepened in her cheeks, as if she was having trouble controlling her temper and Salim almost, but not quite, regretted goading her like this.

      But then she recovered and reached for her case. She avoided his eye. ‘If that’s all for now, Sheikh Al-Noury, I think I’d like to settle in and get acquainted with my surroundings.’

      He put out a hand. ‘By all means. Let me show you to your room.’

      She preceded him out of the Royal Office. She was taller than he’d initially registered. The top of her head would come to just under his chin. Her body would stand tantalisingly flush against his in heels. But if she wasn’t wearing heels… Once again sexual interest flared in his groin and he scowled. She was buttoned up to within an inch of her life. Since when had he found prim attractive?

      Charlotte was burningly aware of Sheikh Al-Noury close behind her, and it made her tense—even though she knew that he wasn’t remotely interested in her in that way. She was sure he didn’t taunt women he found attractive and suggest they might put him over their knee, which had caused all manner of completely inappropriate images to flood her mind.

      The man was so charismatic, he could probably make an inanimate object feel something.

      He led her away from the office down a long, imposing corridor. She’d only seen a handful of staff so far, which added to the surreal sense of the whole palace being in a state of arrested development.

      Salim glanced at her when she’d caught up with his long-legged stride and she said, ‘I’m surprised the palace is so quiet. Is there only a skeleton staff because no one has been in residence for so long?’

      Sheikh Al-Noury stopped, causing Charlotte to come to a halt too. ‘There is minimal staff today because it’s a national holiday—don’t tell me you missed that in your research?’

      She had missed that pertinent detail, and now she felt foolish after spouting off all her qualifications.

      ‘Don’t worry,’ he drawled, striding off again, ‘I’ll make sure someone attends to you and brings you food. Tomorrow you’ll be assigned a maid—’

      ‘That’s really not necessary,’ Charlotte protested as she started after him. She was aware of the customs here, but wasn’t comfortable at the thought of someone waiting on her.

      ‘It’s how things are done, Ms McQuillan,’ the sheikh pointed out. ‘If you insist on staying then you will abide by our ways.’

      Charlotte stopped for a moment, surprised that in this he seemed to be happy that customs were adhered to, but she had to keep going when he showed no signs of slowing down and was about to disappear around a corner. She wouldn’t put it past him to leave her lost in this vast palace. It couldn’t be more obvious that he’d prefer to be putting her on the next flight home.

      She longed to be able to stop and explore as they passed intriguing-looking courtyards with colourful mosaics and ornate fountains. They rounded another corner and Charlotte jumped when a peacock appeared in their path, as nonchalant as if they were intruding on its turf, its long and vibrantly coloured tail trailing behind it.

      Sheikh Al-Noury stepped around it and kept going. Charlotte felt disorientated. She’d built a picture of this man in her mind that had been based on lurid headlines:

      Playboy Sheikh opens new nightclub

      in Monte Carlo!

      Al-Noury triples fortune overnight by

      floating new social media messaging site!

      And, while he wasn’t doing much to dispel that image with his appearance or attitude, he didn’t seem as…shallow as Charlotte might have expected.

      They came to a set of huge double doors at the end of the corridor. Sheikh Al-Noury opened them and stood back to let her precede him. When Charlotte stepped over the threshold she sucked in a breath. This was a different palace. One that hadn’t been frozen in time and left to crumble to pieces.

      It was a suite containing numerous rooms, each one covered in exquisite Persian carpets. The furnishings were sumptuous and sensual—dark reds and purples. A little over the top for her tastes, but effortlessly regal. There was a private dining area, and a living room that led into a palatial en-suite bedroom dominated by a four-poster bed.

      She avoided looking at that, acutely aware of the man only feet away and how he might be observing her reaction and somehow judging her. She’d never felt so conscious of being a woman before. And a woman who was lacking.

      The room was pleasantly cool, thanks to the air-conditioning, and there were floor-to-ceiling windows and French doors that led out onto a private terrace, complete with a decorative swimming pool.

      She turned around to face her reluctant host. ‘These rooms are beautiful, but I’d be quite happy in something less…luxurious.’

      He waved a dismissive hand. ‘These are usually reserved for my mother’s use, and they were decorated to her specifications,